


like walking into a room and forgetting why, but worse

by dancinghopper



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, amnesia but like. amnesia that does what i want for the purpose of the narrative, gratuitous douglas adams references, this is so stupid and silly but i love it big time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-03-04 20:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: John Mulaney:"I also think it's weird in movies when someone has amnesia and they wake up in the hospital, a lot of times they'll be surrounded by friends and family but when they open their eyes they go "who are you?!". Because that's not how you act when you don't recognise somebody. That's very rude. I always try to be really polite in life, so if I had amnesia, you'd never know it. I'd wake up and I'd be like ‘Oh, hey man. Hey dude.’ Because that's how you act when you can tell that someone recognises you, and you have no fucking clue who they are!"in which dirk loses his memory, is too polite to mention it, and comes to the (only half incorrect) conclusion that he must be dating todd brotzman





	1. PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i started this ages ago but only recently remembered what a god tier concept this is so. here. this would probably be terrifying if it happened irl but its fiction so its ok
> 
> also yeah we're using movie amnesia which basically means it does what i want it to and offers no lasting effects. i love being a writer!

When Dirk wakes up, someone is holding his hand.

 _Hm_ , he thinks. _Interesting_.

***

On any occasion where he’d had cause to think of it, Dirk had always pictured waking up with amnesia as being relatively straightforward — where it was as though your last memory had just happened, and you had no sense at all that time was out of whack. A bit like if you scrolled back through all of your days, picked one at random and plonked yourself back in it. Easy-peasy.

On the contrary, as he discovers, everything is slightly more fuzzy than that.  There’s a great big blob of _nothing_ in his memory, ink-filled pages followed by several that he knows should not be blank, but are. His body feels different, as if he’s not in his own, or possibly like how Captain America felt when he woke up all beefy. That was a good film. Dirk has not grown himself a whole new muscular body, but the sight of his familiar lanky limbs is actually quite the relief, thank you very much. Still, it’s all very bizarre. Positively _weird_.

He recognises Farah’s voice from the phone call he got a few days ago, just before she tried to hire him for a man named Patrick Spring. Obviously that all managed to work out, if her presence is anything to go by. Or, possibly, they’re still mid-case. But that doesn’t feel quite right, and even though his brain tells him it was only a few days ago, the aforementioned nothing-blob suggests it could be any amount of time. Well, any amount of time within reason. He’s certainly not lost enough memory to have gotten _old_ , that much he is certain. His hands would have been _much_ more wrinkly.

Ah. Yes. His _hands_.

Dirk cautiously opens one eye, trying not to get blinded by the bright hospital lights as he had been the first time. Farah is still sitting on the end of his bed, all stiff and angular, twisting her hands together. She seems like a very anxious person, and keeps checking her phone. He clears his throat, and she snaps to.

“Hey.” She tucks the phone inside her (very cool) leather jacket. “Back with the living?”

Earlier he’d only really drifted into consciousness long enough to recognise her voice, but maybe he should have started working on a plan of attack for this whole amnesia thing. He settles on shrugging and Farah pulls a face, gaze flickering to the man slumped in the hospital chair. The man who is currently holding his hand. Because one situation apparently wasn’t enough.

“He was pretty freaked out,” she says. The man is asleep, slack-jawed and hunched awkwardly in the plastic chair, arm outstretched so his hand can rest atop Dirk’s. He thinks he should probably be uncomfortable, but actually it’s just sort of nice. It’s almost _friendly_. Dirk hasn’t had friends for a long time, if ever. He’s not sure friends count if they’re only friends because you’re imprisoned in the same government facility. Farah’s tone turns chiding, and he tears his gaze away from the man. “I _told_ you not to go in without back-up.”

Dirk shrugs again. As a general rule, he prefers to try and be polite whenever he can. It’s a side effect of dragging trouble and nuisances everywhere he goes — he has to compensate _somehow_. So it seems sort of rude, especially when Farah is being so nice to him, to interrupt her to say he hasn’t the foggiest who she is, why she’s acting like a friend, or where he went without back up. Or why he would even _need_ back up.

“Sorry?” he tries, because he usually ends up apologising for something most of the time, so it seems like a good bet.

Farah pats his leg protectively. “The doctors say you should be good to go within the hour, they just wanted to check on you once you woke up. You’ve got a concussion, but everything else seemed fine on the scans. Are you feeling okay?”

There it is, the perfect opportunity to let her know that he actually probably almost definitely has amnesia. Sometimes the universe _does_ help him.

He opens his mouth. “Actually —"

There’s a sudden scuffling sound to his right, cutting Dirk off. Sleepy-man appears to have jolted awake, and is rubbing a hand tiredly across his face. “Dirk?” he half-yawns, and Dirk’s whole body does something weird at the sight of him, limbs going all gooey. He’s so glad he’s lying down.

“You’re awake,” continues Sleepy-man, pushing himself upright in the chair, hand still on Dirk’s. The realisation makes his rib cage clench tightly around his heart in a way that can’t be anything but muscle memory, and he suddenly feels very flustered. Wonderful.

“Erm. Yes,” Dirk says, trying not to stare too obviously while the man scrubs the last traces of sleep from his face. “Hello?”

“He’s got a concussion,” chimes Farah, and Sleepy-man rolls his eyes, even as his shoulders lose some of their rigidity and he settles back into his seat.

“Of course you do,” he says to Dirk, looking relieved and annoyed all at once. “How are you feeling?”

Dirk blinks. That’s  the crux of the matter, after all. He’s never claimed to be the most socially adept creature, but even he feels like it would be rather impolite, when faced with two people who are acting as if they care about him greatly, to inform them that he has absolutely no knowledge of who they are. 

(Not least, he thinks, when one is still holding his hand.)

“Fine,” he says, wincing at the way his voice breaks on the word. Sleepy-man narrows his eyes at him, and Dirk thinks he’s going to call his bluff when they’re interrupted by a doctor entering the room. She smiles warmly at him.

“Hello, Dirk,” she says, and taps on her chart. “Had a bit of a nasty knock on the head, did you?”

Dirk looks at the doctor, and he looks at Farah and the man at his bedside. Perhaps he’s just imagining it all, and he’s currently in a coma.

“Quite,” he says.

***

Dirk, although possibly missing one or several months of his life, is a detective. He is a professional detective man and, as such, refuses to bend to the will of this frankly very annoying case and out himself as a fish-sans-water. Because that’s what this is — a case. Well, probably. And even if it’s not, which is actually very likely, at least if he approaches it like a case he might in time figure out a half-decent way to jog his memory and save everybody the trouble of doing it for him. 

With this method in mind, he manages to identify Sleepy-man as Todd through a truly thrilling method of waiting for Farah to address him by name. Slightly more exciting is that he even succeeds in garnering Todd’s last name from a piece of paperwork, because as it turns out, Todd Brotzman is also Dirk’s emergency contact. Because apparently that’s something Dirk has now. He pins the fact on his mental board under the title _?????,_ and resolves to collect more evidence.

Todd insists on driving from the hospital and Dirk agrees to it, partly because he’s got a head injury, partly because he doesn’t know where they’re going, and mostly because he’s still trying to wrap his head around the word home. 

“Do you want tea?” asks Todd after letting him into his ( _their? Dirk’s?_ ) apartment. He chucks his keys on the kitchen counter and busies himself with the cupboards. The chucking of the keys suggests the apartment is Todd’s, but maybe Todd is just the sort of person who makes himself comfortable in other people’s homes.

“Farah gave us the rest of the day off,” he continues. “Something about how you’re ineffectual on the best of days, so it’s probably not best to throw a concussion into the mix.”

Todd gives him a grin over his shoulder, digging around in the cupboards and pulling out two mugs. Dirk feels something unclench in his chest. Odd.

“That’s rude,” he says, and hops onto the countertop without thinking about it. It can’t be too out of the ordinary because Todd doesn’t even blink when he turns around, just sticks the kettle under the tap with ease.

While Todd busies himself with this, Dirk takes a moment to surreptitiously observe the apartment. The space doesn’t exactly jog anything, but it has a sense of familiarity that he can’t place. The jackets hooked by the doors don’t ring any bells, but given that Todd doesn’t seem to be the garish colour type, and that Dirk has (in his memory) just purchased three in a similar style, he decides that they’re probably his. The bed ( _singular_ ) is rumpled, and there’s a novelty lamp on the bedside table. A stack of _Antiques Roadshow_ DVDs have piled up next to the TV. Given what he knows about Todd (which is, admittedly, about 2 and half things), Dirk doesn’t think he’s the type for eclectic furnishings and British TV. In fact, if he had to hazard a guess (and he’s generally pretty good at them), Dirk would say he was almost definitely living here. The question is — is Todd?

Todd puts a cup of tea beside him, and comes to lean against the countertop, zeroing Dirk’s focus back in on the task at hand and away from such things as pesky living situations. Todd takes a sip of his own coffee, tilting his head up to look at Dirk.

“So,” he says, “Did you at least find something interesting?”

Dirk hesitates. “Hm?”

“At the warehouse,” prompts Todd. He squints when Dirk doesn’t reply, a series of creases appearing in-between his eyebrows. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Well, actually,” he says, right as Todd reaches up to put his hand on Dirk’s face. _Shit_ , thinks Dirk, and feels his cheeks flush. It turns out that fancying someone is exceptionally _not_ fun when you can’t even remember why you fancy them in the first place (even if he is getting the idea). He clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t feel warm,” mutters Todd, still looking at him with narrowed eyes. Dirk decides not to mention that on the contrary he feels very warm, thank you very much. Instead he says: “It’s a concussion, Todd, not a fever.”

Todd drops his hand. “At least you’re still an asshole.” 

Dirk doesn’t know how to take that. “No,” he says, “I don’t remember _anything_.”

Todd frowns, and puts his coffee down beside them. He taps on his chin. “Maybe it’s a thing. You know, short-term memory loss. Like blacking out and waking up in the back room of a dive bar in Chicago, hungover with no idea how you got there, wearing only one shoe.”

Todd scrunches his nose up, and Dirk’s chest goes funny. “That was Amanda, by the way, not me.”

Dirk nods seriously. “Of course. So. What do we do now?”

Todd shrugs. “Farah said to take it easy. You can put some _Netflix_ on or something, if you want.”

***

Dirk watches six episodes of the original _Star Trek_ while Todd taps away on his laptop, all the while feeling simultaneously very at home and very on edge. The more he looks around the apartment the more he sees things that he can’t attribute to himself, like the guitar and the sneakers and the number three spray-painted onto the wall. There’s also the fact that Todd’s laptop was here, now that he thinks of it. His new hypothesis is that, in addition to at least two friends, he has also managed to convince one of them to become his flat mate. Or, possibly, terrifyingly, his _boyfriend_.

He finds his phone in the pocket of his jacket shortly after settling on the couch, and makes a futile attempt to use it as an aid in his investigation. His usual passcode doesn’t work, and even though he has a fair go at guessing in the hope that the universe will guide him, all he manages to do is get himself locked out of the phone indefinitely.

He flings it at the other end of the sofa. _Useless_. Bloody technology, he’s never liked it. The only thing of note is the date, which tells him he’s lost about a year and sends him to freak out in the bathroom for a minute. Now would be a wonderful time to tell Todd, and Todd would actually probably be very helpful, but he also sort of feels like he’s left it far too long for it to be anything but weird. He swallows the panic and sits back in front of the TV, and devotes himself to deciphering Todd some more. He does seem to like Dirk, which is promising, and he did hold his hand for quite a while in the hospital. There’s also a picture of him, Dirk and a brunette set as Dirk’s lock screen, and he knows his own face well enough to recognise the expression, so. Hm. 

Still half in thought, he absently gets up and drifts over to the kitchen, sticking his hand in a cabinet and coming out with a biscuit. He stops and stares at it for a second once he comes back to himself. What a wonderful thing muscle memory is. Still, it’s encouraging. Maybe the universe is just playing a joke on him, and his memories are just blocked rather than gone entirely. He’s sure it does get bored from time to time.

He takes a look at the fridge. It’s covered in photos of him and various other people, which is a sufficiently terrifying and fascinating experience. He recognises Farah and Todd, and the brunette from his phone, but everyone else is a mystery. They’re all held up with letter magnets, and somebody has spelt out “fuck off” near the handle. Dirk stares at it all for a long time, drinking in the pictures. There’s also a menu for an Italian restaurant, which, oooh. He could go for some Italian.

“Todd?” he calls, and finally takes a bite of his biscuit, still looking at the fridge. “Can we get Italian for dinner?”

There’s a beat.

“If you want,” says Todd from the living room. There’s another pause, and then he says: “Italian? Really?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“Nothing. I just — I thought you’d be over it after the Vogon fiasco.”

Dirk sticks his head out of the kitchen just in time to hear Todd mutter something derogatory about linguini.

“Vogon fiasco?”

“Yeah, in the bistro — are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting... weirder than usual.”

“No I’m not,” says Dirk, immediately. “Can I borrow your phone to call?”

Todd tilts his head back on his chair, looking at Dirk upside down so he doesn’t have to turn around. It’s very lazy and it makes Dirk feel suddenly, incredibly fond.

“What’s wrong with yours?”

“Dead.”

“Kay,” says Todd, and chucks it over his shoulder. He goes back to looking at his laptop. The phone lands with a bang halfway between his chair and the kitchen, and Dirk picks it up slowly. It’s a cheap, sturdy thing, covered in scratches, which is probably because it’s owner has no qualms about throwing it about the place. It doesn’t have a passcode.

***

 _Okay_ , thinks Dirk as he slurps on his fettuccine. _Here’s the plan._

For now, he will keep his mouth shut about the whole unfortunate amnesia business. For all he knows he just needs a good reset, and he’ll wake up in the morning having had his memory restored and this whole situation will just become a funny anecdote to break out at parties. It’ll be a test of the whole ‘off and on again’ method. If he wakes up _without_ his memory, he’ll find out where he was when he lost it and go there in the hope of finding it. If that _still_ doesn’t work, then he’ll tell Todd. Simple. Easy-peasy.

Todd has migrated from his arm-chair to sit beside Dirk, and has switched the TV over to _Seinfeld_ , which Dirk isn’t overly fond of. It’s one of the better ones, though, where everything comes together in the end in a way Dirk can appreciate, so he doesn’t cause a fuss. Maybe he even _likes_ it now.. Todd makes little huffs at the jokes and the whole thing is so nice that Dirk gets vaguely irritated and despondent about the fact that he can’t remember why any of this is how it is.

He takes their dishes over to the kitchen and dumps them in some soapy water, then goes and sits back next to Todd, yawning.

“Are you staying here tonight?” asks Todd, which, _aha!_. More evidence. Given that Dirk has absolutely no idea where else he would be going, he nods. Todd gives him a small, relieved smile.

“Okay.”

***

Dirk finds some joggers on the floor that look much too long for Todd and decides to put them on, and then tugs on a t-shirt from the dresser. He figures if he and Todd are dating then sharing clothes is probably a relatively normal thing to do. It sounds like a normal thing to do. Even if it’s not, it’s much too late now.

Todd doesn’t even look twice at him  when he comes back from the bathroom, so Dirk takes that as a mark of approval. There is a short moment of panic when he looks at the two toothbrushes by the sink and can’t for the life of him figure out which one he would have picked, so he just squirts some toothpaste on his finger and rubs it over his gums. It is probably a little gross and not dentistry-sound, but Todd doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be happy to know he was sharing his toothbrush, so Dirk does it anyway.

Todd is already in bed when Dirk goes back into the main room, scrolling on his phone. There’s no blanket or pillow on the couch. Right. Okay.

Here’s the thing. Dirk is aware that any situation he is in right now is entirely his own fault for not being able to mention the fact that he is _suffering from amnesia_. A sane person probably would have. And Dirk has no particular qualms about sharing a bed with somebody. He’s polite, but he’s not _that_ polite. If he was really uncomfortable he would not have an issue making it known. It’s just that, well, alright.  An example: Dirk would also have no particular qualms about flying a plane, but if you put him in a cockpit right now it’s not like he’d know what button to press. It’s like that.

Still, he’s made his bed and now it’s time to lie in it, literally. So he gets in and positions himself on his back so he doesn’t have to look at Todd, twiddling his thumbs where they’re resting over his stomach. This whole ordeal, even though it’s only been a few hours, has felt rather like some eerie _It’s a Wonderful Life_ type of glance into his future, and he wouldn’t be _entirely_ remiss if he woke up tomorrow back where he should be. But. It’s very nice to know that he has people. Very novel, and very nice.

Todd flicks off the light, and shuffles down into the bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin. Dirk’s heart aches and he doesn’t know why.

“Night Dirk,” he says.

***

Unfortunately Dirk does not wake up with his memory restored. This is mostly disappointing but not really that upsetting.  He resolves to find out where he lost it and go there, and then to figure out how to tell Todd.

He manages to get by mostly by just waiting until Todd has done whatever Dirk wants to do first, or by waiting until Todd is out of the room. This is how he locates the cereal and the mugs, but it isn’t until Todd says ‘ _are you planning on getting dressed today or are you going to work in my shirt’_ that Dirk decides to tackle the whole clothing debacle, even if the jackets by the door prove he must have _some_ items of clothing here.

He does his best to pick clothes that look like ones he would hypothetically buy himself if he had money and regular cases, which is made easier by the fact that three out of four drawers contain band t-shirts and black jeans. Todd very luckily does not witness this because he is having a shower. Dirk is also coming to the unsatisfying conclusion that this is all starting to feel a bit like deception. Like, sure, Todd obviously knows him, but he’s not really sure it counts because for all Dirk knows he underwent some life changing event and completely altered his personality before meeting Todd.

That last one doesn’t really check out, but the reasoning feels solid.

Dirk fidgets the entire way to what Todd keeps calling _the office_ , absolutely desperate to know more about the fact that apparently he has a _job_ now, in a professional setting no less. The fact that he has apparently given up on being a detective is both appalling and fascinating, because he can’t imagine foregoing it for anything, so whatever this job is must be something special.

He follows Todd inside a building a few blocks from the apartment, bouncing in anticipation. He’s been trying not to say anything out of fear of giving himself away, and Todd keeps shooting him weird looks. He follows Todd up the stairs and to a corridor filled with doors. The one Todd pulls out a key to has a frosted window in it, which is definitely a positive. It’s the type of door private detectives always have in movies, which makes Dirk excited for whatever career change he has undergone. After all, a door is a first impression of sorts, and a good door probably means good things.

He wanders in after Todd, peering about the place. It’s quite nice, with big windows and lots of colour. There’s a big plaque on the wall next to the door, and — oh.

_Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency._

Dirk blinks at it.

 _Bloody hell_ , he thinks, weakly. _That’s a bit of a shock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to wait until i had finished this to start posting but i crave that sweet validation too much. i do however have an essay to do this week which probably means i will avoid it by writing the rest of part two, so. you'll probably see part two: todd's freakout some time next week  
> hope you enjoyed!! XO


	2. PART TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok everybodyyyyy! i made this three parts instead of two bc i hadnt really planned ahead for how to get rid of the amnesia and needed to come up with something. hopefully this is still fun even though we've moved over to todd for a bit (bc i love him)
> 
> also i completely forgot todd has pararibulitus :( in the multi verse there’s a version of this story where todd has an attack pre dirk fessing up about the amnesia and dirk doesn’t know what to do and is later wracked w guilt over it. that was way too depressing for me so i didn’t do it, but feel free to imagine it if u wanna make urself sad :(

Todd’s life, post-Bergsberg, has actually been pretty great. He and Amanda are talking again, he’s no longer on the run, Dirk’s back and they even managed to fix up his crappy apartment into something liveable. Todd would even go so far as to say that he’s actually enjoying himself, maybe for the first time in a long time. But, just because the majority of his day are good, doesn't mean he’s not having bad ones every now and then. Or bad weeks, even. Like this one.

For one, there’s this whole warehouse case they’ve been working on. It seems to have been specially designed to mess with his brain, and the sheer number of dead ends they’ve run into has been enough to damper even Dirk’s mood, so it’s a safe bet that Todd is at least fifty percent more annoyed with it. There was also yesterday, wherein Dirk managed to land himself in hospital with a _head injury_ and subsequently terrify Todd the _fuck_ out for a good four hours. And that’s not even _touching_ on the whole _hand-holding_ thing and the fact that since it happened Dirk _hasn’t mentioned it at all_ , and when you add that all together Todd is relatively certain that he is edging tantalisingly close to developing a stomach ulcer.

So, yes, his life is good, in general, but right now he’s stressed about this shitty case, and he’s stressed about the fact that Dirk got hurt, and about how he’s been acting kind of weird and vague and quiet ever since, and he’s stressed about the fact that brains are super weird, okay, and to be honest, he’s mostly stressed that Dirk is going to up and drop dead on him with no warning. He thinks they might be getting a little bit co-dependent.

He manages to keep a hold on this fairly well, though, until they get to work and he turns around to see Dirk stuck staring glassy-eyed at his name on the wall, and everything goes into overdrive.

“Dirk?” he asks, curling his fingers around his keys until they dig into him. Dirk doesn’t show any sign of hearing him, just keeps standing there transfixed. Todd’s heart rate spikes and he thinks he should really actually see someone about getting some anxiety meds. “Dirk.”

Todd crosses to him, and places a hand on Dirk’s elbow. Dirk’s eyes close at the touch, blinking like he’s coming back into himself, and Todd swallows around something in his throat. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” says Dirk, and opens his eyes properly. They’re wet. He steps away from Todd, breaking the touch and bringing his hands together to fidget in front of him. “I, er. I think I have to tell you something.”

Todd does not like those words. Nothing good has ever come from somebody needing to tell him something. It always means he’s about to get fired or dumped or told that Amanda has pararibulitis. His whole body stiffens, and then he realises that his hand is still hovering in the air where it was touching Dirk, and forcibly lowers it.

“Right,” he says. Dirk winces.

“Um, okay,” he says. “So, listen, Todd, you’re lovely, you are, and obviously you and I are, well. Yes. But the thing is—”

Oh god. Oh mother of fucking fuck. Todd feels himself redden, his shoulders seizing up as he realises where this is going. Why the fuck did he let himself hold Dirk’s hand in the hospital? This is the worst thing that has ever happened to him in his life. Almost. Maybe top five, he’s been through some shit.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” says Todd immediately, effectively cutting Dirk off. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Fuck, let’s — let’s not. It’s fine. I get it.”

Dirk furrows his brow. “Um,” he says. “Well, I sort of think we should, actually.”

Todd wants to die. Dirk has been uncharacteristically quiet since he knocked himself out yesterday, and possibly this is why Todd finds himself rushing to fill the silence. “We really don’t. You don’t — feel the same, I know. It’s fine. Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t want — I wasn’t — look, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen. I shouldn’t’ve — you know. So, yeah. Okay?”

Dirk blinks at him. “What are you talking about?”

Todd very determinedly looks at a spot just left of Dirk’s shoulder, the words being wrenched from him even though he should just _shut up now_. “I, _urgh_ , the — _hand-holding_. I crossed a boundary, and I shouldn’t have, and it let you know how I — _Jesus,_ how I feel — and — ugh, just — lets just forget it, okay? It's fine.”

Several emotions speed rapid fire across Dirk’s face. “Erm, what? You’re talking about the _hand-holding_?”

Dirk blinks at him again, eyebrows creasing and smoothing out and creasing again. “No, hang on,” he says suddenly, “ _What?_ Are we _not_ dating?”

Todd is having a stroke. This is what a stroke feels like. “You think we’re _dating_?”

“Um, _yes_?” Dirk floats his hand around, looking incredulous. “We live together, you held my hand, we sleep in the same bed?”

Todd gapes at him, because, well, that’s sort of fair? He feels like he’s swallowed his tongue. But this is... fine? Or, wait, no — does that mean _Dirk_ —?

Dirk makes a choked off noise and gesticulates some more. “Right, okay, well, moving on from that troublesome discovery, that’s actually — Um, the thing is —“

Dirk covers his mouth with his hand, looking at Todd with wide eyes. “I sort of lied a bit at the hospital,” he says, muffled.Todd ricochets back into panic mode, abruptly forgetting how humiliated he is right now.

“What? Shit, are you okay?” He steps back into Dirk’s space and then stops himself, hovering a foot away. “What’s wrong?”

Dirk winces, his whole face crinkling up. “Um, so, I’m fine, but. I’m experiencing a little bit of amnesia. A lot bit, actually.”

Todd stares at him, and Dirk rushes to keep talking, which is actually a relief because it means Todd doesn’t have to respond to anything he just said.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you!” continues Dirk, hurriedly. “It’s just that you and Farah were being so nice that I thought, you know, it’d be impolite to mention that I sort of maybe totally didn’t have any idea who you were. Whoops?”

“ _What_.” says Todd, flatly. Dirk’s face crinkles further in on itself. “I need to, uh.”

Todd stares at him some more. His ears are buzzing. “I need to call Farah,” he says eventually, the only modicum of his life that makes any amount of sense. “I need — I need Farah.”

***

“You have _amnesia_?” yells Farah after she arrives and gets filled in, fingers clenching dangerously around her coffee cup. Todd is half waiting for it to give into the pressure and for the lid to ricochet off and take somebody’s eye out. It also doesn’t really count as yelling because it’s more like a very intense, over-pronounced string of words, but that’s basically Farah’s equivalent.

Todd is sitting at his desk, head in hands, and looks up at them between his fingers to see Dirk cowering from her a bit. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing. Todd is annoyed and stressed and pissed and stressed, and he sort of feels like Dirk deserves to suffer a little for that.

 _Except_ , thinks Todd, and scrunches his face up beneath his hand, _he doesn’t_.

“Farah,” says Todd finally, because he’d let Dirk tell her about the amnesia and feels like he should get over the shock and contribute to the conversation. “It’s not like it’s his fault.”

Farah takes a deep breath, but keeps her death grip on the coffee. “No,” she says, with forced calm. “No, you’re right. It’s not your fault, Dirk. It’s just that, you know, I am a little freaked out about the fact that your self preservation skills are so bad that you don’t mention when you have _amnesia_. Oh god. Okay. Okay. We have to go to the hospital right now. Todd, I need — I need you to get — get the car. _“_

Her words are starting to bleed into one another and go all high-pitched, and Todd cringes. Oh god. He can _not_ be the sane one right now. Todd’s speciality is freak-outs, and he’s doing a fantastic job of it. If Farah loses her nut then they are all definitely screwed.

“Um,” interjects Dirk, and Todd feels nauseous. “Actually, I sort of, erm. Had a plan?”

Todd closes his eyes. _Jesus_. His latte swirls about in his stomach some more. Farah’s eye twitches. Todd grunts in a way that he hopes is understandable as ‘ _go on’._

“I — well, I was going to go back to where I lost my memory and. Er. Find it again.”

Farah makes a strangled noise. Todd sympathises.

“You said I was fine on the scans!” jumps in Dirk, “And, you know, I’m a holistic detective, these things happen to me all the time. Well, not all the time. Not ever, actually, but, you know, first time for everything.”

He gives a big grin. Todd feels very much like he’s back in the first Patrick Spring case, getting dragged along on the whirlwind that is Dirk Gently.

“So! Come on,” he says, and claps his hands. “Where was I when you found me knocked out?”

Both Farah and Todd hesitate. Dirk lets out a big sign.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the whole losing my memory business. I was just trying to be nice. But, the sooner we get to wherever I was when I got knocked out, the sooner I can have my memory back and everything can be normal again. I have a good feeling about it.”

As they pile into the car to head off to this goddamn bitch of a warehouse, Todd decides he really needs to re-evaluate how many insane things he lets Dirk get away with based on his ‘feelings’. Really, _really_ needs to.

Fuck.

***

The warehouse case is not going to be one of Todd’s favourites, he’s known that ever since the email requesting their help landed in his inbox. The main gist is that boxes keep going missing, which is very boring, and the only reason they even got pulled into it was because one of the delivery guys walked in and didn’t walk back out. Slightly more interesting, but not great. There’s also the fact that, first day of investigating, Todd managed to get lost for a full three hours. Dirk managed five.

Anyway. The layout of the warehouse doesn’t even make fucking sense, because it should not be possible to get lost in what is essentially a glorified metal box. But they did. Todd hates it.

Dirk grills them both for information on the past year of his life the entire way there, which, okay, he can understand. If Todd from a-year-ago had been told his new best friend was going to be a holistic detective and that he’d finally fess up to Amanda, he’d probably want details too. But it’s really. It’s really weird. He‘s trying not to think about the fact that he hung out with Dirk all yesterday and didn’t manage to notice that the guy had no idea who he was. He doesn’t do a very good job of it, and he keeps wondering what Dirk thought about his life ( ~~ _and Todd_~~ — _no, shut up, don’t go there_ ) from what’s essentially an outsiders perspective. He’s always been kind of worried that Dirk just, like, imprinted on him out of chance and that without all their shared near-death experiences he’s going to realise Todd’s actually a shitty person.

He’s trying not be such a shitty person, but, you know. He didn’t realise his best friend had forgotten who he was, so apparently he’s not doing a very good job of it.

Anyway. It also feels like taking a sledgehammer to the heart, because Dirk keeps fixating on the fact that he has _friends_ and all Todd can think about is the fact that before he met him, Dirk had pretty much been on his own for fifteen years, and it’s a fun (read: fucking awful) reminder that all the good things that have happened in the last year are essentially, now, moot points, and Dirk is right back there struggling to believe anybody will ever care about him.

“Todd?”

Think of the devil. He really hopes they haven’t reached Blackwing’s reemergence yet. “Hm?”

“You look like you’re trying to bend the steering wheel.”

Todd glances down from the road to his hands, which, yeah, are clenched pretty tight. “Oh,” he says.

Farah shoots him a look of concern. She’s twisted around in the passenger seat to narrate for Dirk, a little stiffly because he can tell she’s finding this just as weird as he is. Todd suddenly wishes that Amanda were here, because at least she would probably be telling the stories with an enthusiasm to match Dirk’s, and he doesn’t want Dirk to think they don’t like him. It’s just. It’s weird.

“Do you want to switch?” asks Farah. Todd clears his throat, and tries to relax his grip.

“No,” he says. “We’re nearly there. I’m fine.”

***

“Is anybody actually going to fill me in on why I was in a warehouse?” asks Dirk eventually, hands stuck in the pockets of his pink jacket as they wander along. He’s peering at the labels on the boxes with interest.

“Oh, yeah,” says Todd, and gets a fresh wave of realisation. It’s kind of hard to remember when Dirk is acting so — _Dirk_. Farah is up ahead leading them to where Dirk had been knocked out because she’s the only one who can navigate this place, so Todd guesses it’s up to him to fill Dirk in: ”So, uh, packages keep getting lost, and shit. And then this one guy walked in and hasn’t walked back out. That’s kind of it, but I guess they thought there was something weird going on, so they called us.”

Dirk’s face lights up. “Really? That’s interesting.”

Todd snorts. “Yep. Really great. Fantastic.”

Dirk frowns, looking slightly disappointed. “You don’t think so?”

Todd realises Dirk probably doesn’t know that Todd’s apathy is about mind-fuck cases and not Dirk’s enthusiasm itself, and bites on his tongue, backtracking. “No, I mean, I just — I got lost in here for like three hours when we first investigated, so. Hate this place.”

Dirk gets his thinking face on, and stops walking. “Oh,” he says. “Hm.”

Then, quick as a flash, he loosens his tie, pulls it over his head, and chucks it over his shoulder. Todd blinks at him.

“What,” he says. 

“I have a theory,” Dirk beams, and then does not elaborate. Todd raises his eyebrows.

“Okay?”

Dirk keeps grinning, and starts walking again, jogging a little to catch up to Farah.

“Come on!” he chirps. Todd glances back at the tie sitting in the middle of the aisle.

“You’re just gonna leave that there?”

“Yup,” says Dirk. “It’s lost, now.”

Todd feels like he might be getting an inkling of where this is going. Maybe. He had forgotten how smug Dirk could be, holding all the cards to his chest and just dragging Todd along kicking and screaming. It’s weird how things have changed so much without him noticing — because admittedly now there is substantially less resistance on Todd’s part, and Dirk, too, is less inclined to keep all his thoughts to himself. This does mean Todd gets woken up in the middle of the night to be told about that one time Dirk saw a bird in a supermarket, but Todd doesn’t mind. He’d gladly agree to be woken up every night if it meant Dirk could get his memory back.

 _Oh, Christ,_ he thinks, and quickens his pace to catch up. He’s in so freakin’ deep.

***

“So,” says Dirk, staring down at the spot where he’d been found, which is essentially the end of a random aisle and not dangerous at all, so it probably shouldn’t be making Todd feel jittery. “Here’s my plan.”

He shoots a suspicious look at Todd, “I think you maybe won’t like it.”

That’s fair. “Sounds about right.”

“Yes, well. I think,” continues Dirk, “that we should attempt knocking me out again.”

Todd stares at him. Farah crosses her arms, and quirks an eyebrows. “Dirk?”

Dirk shrugs. “It seems to me that I bumped my head —” He pokes the faint remainder of the lump on his forehead, and winces, “— and woke up sans-memory. So it seems fair game that the opposite might happen if we try it again, now.”

Todd thinks about it for a second, and then says: “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

Dirk pouts. “It is not, Todd. I would go so far to say it is detectively-sound.”

“That’s not a word,” mumbles Farah, and puts her hand to her forehead. “Dirk, we’re not — we’re not going to let you risk another injury on the off chance something _might_ happen. Especially not _right_ after you were just in hospital.”

“But it’s our best bet!”

Farah and he share a look. Her eyebrows are all bendy and confused and he’s willing to guess his are doing the same. Dirk looks between them.

“Come _on_ , Todd,” he says — damn near whines, actually. “Hit me!”

“No. Absolutely not.” Todd searches around for an argument other than the obvious. “What if you just lose more of your memory?”

Dirk half opens his mouth, and then shuts it again, frowning. Farah jumps in.

“And the case,” she says, grabbing Dirk by the arms coaxingly. “It could jeopardise the case!”

“Oh!” Dirk tears away from her, smacking himself in the forehead. He flinches again, and somewhere underneath the anxiety Todd feels helplessly, stupidly fond. “Stupid Dirk! The case, yes, I figured it out!”

“You what?”

Dirk grins at Farah, looking delighted at the chance to explain. “Yes, back there, with my tie?”

“Um, what tie—?”

“Dirk —”

Dirk puts on his theory face, and hunches down a little to Todd’s level. Todd thinks he should probably be offended. He’s not _that_ short.

“So,” says Dirk, looking between him and Farah conspiratorially, “I propose that we have stumbled into a sort of inter-dimensional, scrambley-egg type of scenario of —,” he pauses for effect, and wiggles his fingers in an approximation of jazz hands, “— _lost things._ ”

Todd blinks at him. “Um. Okay?”

Dirk pulls a face, straightening up. “Well, that’s not very encouraging.”

“What do you mean, a dimension of lost things?,” asks Farah, pinching the bridge of her nose like she couldn’t have asked for worse news. Todd doesn’t blame her, as he’s been quite happy to stay in his own dimension since last year. “Is this another Wendimoor scenario?”

Dirk waves a hand in her direction, as if this is unimportant. “Oh, some sort of gap or a wormhole or a something, I’m not sure. Definitely a something, though. Possibly even a _sometime_.”

Farah purses her lips. “And what lost things?”

Dirk gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes at Todd, and starts listing things on his fingers. “My tie, and my memory, and the lost boxes. Oh, and the man! The man who walked in but didn’t walk out! I bet he’s just wandering around here somewhere, lost.”

Todd squints at him, because... this does kind of make sense? Kind of?

“Okay,” he says slowly, folding his arms. “But even if it is a place of lost things, that doesn’t mean it’s a place of — of finding things? Like, you still might not get your memory back. Also, I don’t think your tie counts if you deliberately threw it away.”

“Psssht,” says Dirk. “All details, Todd. Anyway, I’m sure the universe will provide a bit of wiggle room.”

Todd is suddenly struck by what’s been bothering him about Dirk for the last hour. When he first met him, Dirk had had a sort of boundless optimism to him, but it had been one that seemed to have developed out of necessity rather than the fact that he really believed in himself. The way Dirk’s talking now, the way he has been all day, it’s like his faith is in the universe rather than his ability to put it together. Todd is not a fan.

Dirk sighs again, all shoulders and exaggerated movement. “Listen. How about, if this doesn’t work, I’ll agree to go to the hospital? All you have to do is give me one good punch, right here.”

He taps the high of his cheekbone, jutting his face towards Todd. Todd reels back.

“Dirk, stop it! Jesus!”

Dirk groans. “What is your _problem_? I don’t understand why you’re both so against this, it’s clearly the _logical_ solution —“

“It’s! not! logical!” cries Todd, getting desperate. “I don’t want to hurt you, what about that is so hard to get?”

Dirk blinks at him, and Todd shuts his mouth, breathing heavily.

“Oh,” says Dirk, looking increasingly wrong-footed. Todd tries to remember that for all intents and purposes he is a literal stranger to Dirk right now, so Dirk can’t be blamed for not knowing this. It doesn't work very well.

“Todd,” says Dirk, uncertainly. “Please. I have a _feeling_.”

Todd is not impressed. He’s _just_ decided not let Dirk use this as an argument anymore. But then again, Dirk can’t possibly know that he says this approximately twelve times a week, and that it always works, so he probably really _does_ have a feeling. Todd shuts his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head.

“ _Nngh_. Farah, how dangerous is this?”

Farah has apparently been prepping for this question, outweighing the risks in her head. She looks vaguely green.

“Okay,” she says, wringing her hands together. “Well, Dirk probably wouldn’t suffer any lasting effects. I mean, he’d have a concussion, but it would really only be dangerous if he were getting knocked out regularly. One concussion is _unlikely_ to fo anything serious. Probably. Um. The only risk is if there’s something — holistic involved.”

“Yeah, and the complaining he’s gonna do about the headache,” mutters Todd, bitterly. Dirk gives him a pleading look, and Todd feels his resolve give a little.

“Christ,” he says. “God, fine, we’ll knock you out. But I want you to know that I hate this.”

He chews on his lip, fists clenched. “How hard do you have to hit someone to knock them out? Should I google it? I don’t want to give you permanent brain damage by hitting you wrong.” He frowns. “God, what am I saying?”

Farah has started to pace, so at least Todd isn’t the only one violently opposed to this. “You want to hit him with a right hook," she babbles. "It’s the way the neck moves that’ll causes him to lose consciousness, and it’s slightly less dangerous than just, um, hitting him. And easier. This is a really terrible idea.”

Todd pulls out his phone and starts to type into _Google_ , just to check how many risks he is actually undertaking. Dirk smacks it out of his hands, then gives him a sheepish look.

“Sorry. But, you know, I really think we should just get on with it. So.”

Todd stares at him for a second. Dirk stares back. Todd thinks he might be sick.

“Nope,” he says. “Can’t do it. Farah?”

Farah squares her shoulders, like she knew it would probably come to this and has been preparing for it. Todd loves her so much.

She comes to stand in front of Dirk, clenching and unclenching her fists a few times. “Are you sure about this?”

Dirk beams. He looks way too excited. Todd’s definitely going to be sick.

“Yep!”

Farah takes a deep breath, and decks him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok nobody panic dirk is FINE i just needed to end this somewhere... cliffhangers who?? also dont take anything i said about head injuries as fact it was the result of one google and by the sounds of it getting knocked out is more dangerous than tv would have you beleive
> 
> anyway i hope you all liked this!! it ended up being a bit more dirk/todd/farah than i expected but i just rewatched s1 and i love the three of them SO MUCH theyre best friends ugh. also this took me so long bc i accidentally started writing pt 3 first and got distracted by all the idiotic love confessions going on soo.... theres ur teaser for the next chap ;) 
> 
> also if anyone has watched good omens that just came out (or read the book) PLEASE talk to me about it or if u havent seen it WATCH IT bc i desperately want to talk to someone about the dirk gently au i see brewing in the corners of my mind......


	3. PART THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to part three: the incoherency files
> 
> this chapter is SO silly but i Dont Care they are idiots and they are in love and im sick of having this in my notes app so im just posting it. happy birthday!

“ _Dirk. Hey. Jesus, fuck, do we need to go to hospital again? How hard did you hit him?”_

“ _Oh, shit,”_ says Farah’s voice, high-pitched and far away. “ _Why did I do that? Stupid, stupid, stupid —“_

_“Hey! Stop it, just...”_

More muffled noise. Some pacing by his head. Is someone touching his face?

_“Hey, did his eyelids just flicker? Dirk, man, wake up._ Come on, dude, you’re like three seconds away from winning the argument.”

Dirk drags his eyes open with great effort. He assumes the fleshy blob in front of him is Todd, but it’s hard to say. He’d once put some glasses on in a newsagent, because they’d had yellow frames and matched his jacket, and he thought perhaps they might be something he’d consider incorporating into his look. The world had looked like this then, too.

“Muergh,” he groans. The fleshy blob lets out a strangled noise that’s sounds like its trying very hard to pretend it’s a laugh. Apparently it _is_ Todd.

“Oh, thank fuck,” says Todd, still looking slightly out of focus. “Are you okay?”

Dirk squints at him in all his mushy-brain glory, trying to remember why he’s passed out on the floor. “Yea— did you _hit_ me?”

Todd sobers, face going stony at the same time as it finally resolves in Dirk’s vision. “Farah did,” he says, although he sounds rather guilty about it. Farah pops into frame above him, illuminated by bright white light like an angel. It suits her.

“Hi, Dirk,” she says, and gives a shaky wave. “You did ask me to.”

Dirk gives her a thumbs up. Whatever he’s lying on is pleasantly cool and nice, if a bit hard, and he thinks he could stay here for a while. Todd, however, seems discontent with this arrangement, and puts his hand on Dirk’s shoulder, pulling on him a little.

“Hey, you think you can sit up?”

Dirk pulls a face. “Urgh,” he says, but manages to push himself up onto his elbows. “Happy?”

Todd lets out a relived breath. “Not really.”

He stares at him for a few seconds, worrying on his bottom lip, and then says: “So, are you... you know? Have you got — did you get your memories back?”

Dirk blinks at him. And then — oh, _weird_. It’s like a blood rush to the brain, like standing up after doing a handstand, but with _knowledge._  It’s particularly bad since his head is already not in tip-top shape. But it’s nice to know that his half-baked plan _worked_ , because to be quite honest he wasn’t really all that sure it would. But it did, obviously, and he is now in the slightly unpleasant state where he remembers remembering, and he remembers not-remembering, and now he remembers remembering not-remembering.

“That was far too many remembers,” he mumbles aloud to himself, and then glances back at Todd, whose eyebrows are doing a thing. “Yes, sorry. All safe and sound. Wendimoor, Lydia etc etc. All back in the noggin.”

He raps lightly on his temple, then winces. “Oh, _ow_.”

Todd lets out another shaky laugh, the fingers on his shoulder tightening, digging into Dirk even through his jacket. “Good. Okay, uh, Farah? What are the signs of concussion?”

Farah makes a frustrated (or stressed? Dirk can’t tell) noise and kneels down next to him, then puts her hands on Dirk’s face and tilts it round a bit. Dirk lets her — everything is feeling vaguely spinny, and also there are all these, er, _feelings_ in his chest that he can only assume are from the last few days, and will probably need a bit of cross-referencing once his head’s stopped pounding. Joy.

“Eurgh,” he mutters, as Farah shines the light from her phone into his eyes. Then something pushes into his memory, and he starts.

“Did I solve the case?” he says suddenly, looking around as if the warehouse will look different. The tightness in his chest certainly _feels_ pleased and excitable, and he vaguely recalls a bit about scrambled eggs. Farah gives him a little smile, and squeezes his arm.

“Yeah, Dirk. You probably did.”

Dirk beams at her. Her and Todd spend a few minutes discussing whether or not to take him to hospital, which Dirk is happy to not participate in — his head is _pounding_. Then he lets them lead him back to the car without argument, one arm thrown over Todd’s shoulder to keep himself upright. Todd squeezes his hip.

There’s something important there, flickering about on the edges of Dirk's brain, but he reckons it can wait.

Half an hour later he stumbles into Todd’s apartment, faceplants onto the bed, and decides to sleep it off.

***

He doesn’t wake up till the next morning, dragging himself into consciousness with frankly _phenomenal_ effort. He’s less haphazard than he remembers, tucked rather neatly on one side of the bed instead of sprawled across it. His shoes and jacket have also disappeared. Delicately, he opens his eyes. Todd is on the couch, probably waiting for Dirk to wake up, scrolling on his phone. Dirk very carefully does not move for a second, trying to get his brain in the right order.

_Right_ , he thinks, staring at the ceiling and being careful to keep his breathing deep and regular even though all he wants to do is panic. _Recap time_.

He’d gone to the warehouse to investigate the case, he remembers now, and to test his theory about losing things. And — oh! He _had_ solved it! He feels a little smug, because even if he solved it again yesterday, it’s nice to know that _he_ got there first. Well, he supposes he was still him yesterday, but it’s different, somehow. He imagines the whole situation and pronouns are going to get very tiring very quickly.

So, he solved the case, and then, oh yes, he’d been trying to get a look at one of the boxes, certain it was one that had been lost, and he’d slipped off the ladder he was using and smacked his head nice and hard on the concrete floor. How dignified. Perhaps he’ll tell Todd he was wrestling a bad guy for it, as that sounds much more dashing. Not that that’s really the point.

_Anyway_ , thinks Dirk, and imagines making a vague hand gesture, that was where things had really started to get interesting. He remembers waking up in the hospital, both without context and now _with_ context, and Todd had held his hand. In hindsight it’s very easy to see _why_ amnesia-him got confused, but it makes more sense now his head is filled up again. He and Todd do a lot of things that, to other people, would probably seem a bit couple-y. So that’s fine, even if the memory does make him go all warm and a bit gooey in the middle. That’s _standard_ , even, because Todd always makes him feel a bit like that.

He also doesn’t particularly want to reanalyse all the feelings he’d had realising he had friends and an apartment and somewhere to call home. It’s all rather self-pitying and tied up in memories he doesn’t want to revisit, and it’s too early in the morning for that. He reasons to himself that he hasn’t even had a cup of tea yet. Besides, he _does_ have those things, and he’s very glad about it, and since he’s made it a general rule not to think about Blackwing, that’s probably enough, for now.

And then... this is where things get sort of fuzzy. He remembers telling Todd about the amnesia, but before that there was definitely some yelling about something else, something that’s making his gut twist uncomfortably. He’s fairly sure he let slip that he assumed the two of them of them were dating, and Todd’s reaction had been... not encouraging. Or had it? He mostly remembers feeling very confused.

During this time Todd has gotten up and gone to fiddle about in the kitchen, and now he comes back and plonks something on the bedside table. Dirk maps his trajectory by the sounds of his footsteps, and feels a familiar thrill at noticing how well he now knows Todd. He continues to feign sleep, not quite sure he’s up for discussing anything just yet.

“I know you’re awake,” says Todd bluntly, and Dirk peels open an eyelid. Todd is looking at him with an irritated, yet slightly sappy expression. “Are you feeling alright?”

Dirk shifts in the bed, twisting a little. “Mostly. Hello.”

His eyes flick to the bedside table, zeroing in on the mug and the tea bag hanging over the lip of it. His chest goes all bubbly.

“Hi,” says Todd, sappiness outweighing annoyance for a second. “Do you need help sitting up?”

Dirk rolls his eyes, pleased when it doesn’t make his head ache. “I’m not an invalid, Todd. I can manage.”

“No, I know,” starts Todd, and then stops talking, cutting himself off. Dirk decides it’s still rather too early to analyse this just yet, and pushes himself to sit up.

He reaches for his tea, rubbing slightly at his eyes in the morning sun. Todd sits on the end of the bed, mattress dipping under the weight. Any other situation and this would probably be quite nice. Admittedly it still is. He sips at the tea, cupping the mug in his hands, relishing in it’s warmth.

“Your head doesn’t hurt?” checks Todd. Dirk shakes his head, and Todd nods. “Okay. Well, uh, Farah wanted me to check you for concussion when you woke up either way. She shone a light in my eyes so I’d know what to do, something about learning practically. It hurt like a bitch.”

Dirk grins at him, fond. He realises that’s the outcome Todd’s probably trying to achieve, and the thought makes him grin a little wider.

Todd smiles back, and gestures at him. “So, uh. Can I?”

“Oh!” Dirk puts the tea back on the table. “Yes, sorry. Best to make sure my brain is all fine. Well, fine as usual, you know.”

Todd snorts and shuffles over on the bed, moving so he’s on his knees. He puts his hands on Dirk’s face and tilts it up, looking him dead in the eyes. His hands are rather cold. Dirk’s mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Hm,” says Todd, frowning. He pokes at Dirk’s eyebrow. “I mean, your pupils look pretty regular size. And they’re contracting and stuff. I think that means you’re good.”

He smiles a little, hands still on Dirk’s face. Dirk clears his throat. “Well, good.”

“Yeah,” says Todd, softly. Then his smile drops, replaced with something else. “I’m still mad about it, by the way.”

_Ah._

“Oh,” says Dirk, and fiddles with the bedsheets, twisting them about his fingers. Todd puts his hands back by his sides. “Yes, that’s probably, um, fair. It did work, though.”

“Yeah, but.” Todd makes a hissing noise, sitting back on his heels. “It’s just. It’s.”

He looks at Dirk, and then runs a hand over his mouth, silencing himself. The guilt is practically _radiating_ off him, although about what Dirk isn’t quite sure. “Never mind. We’ll — we can talk later. I’m just, uh. I’m glad you’re. You know. Okay.”

Dirk blinks at him, chest going all fuzzy, as per. He should just stop remarking on it, at this point. It’s practically a fact of his being — _in love with Todd_ , written in big letters and underlined twice over his heart. He certainly doesn’t need _reminders_. Then he becomes aware that he hasn’t said anything yet, has just been sort of gazing at Todd, and tries to make words.

“Yes, well, me too, rather. So. Thank you?” He pulls a face and takes another gulp of tea, then sets it down again and attempts to disentangle himself from the bed covers.

“I think I’m going to go shower,” he says as he does, studiously avoiding Todd’s eyes. If he can just — if he can just get _out_ of Todd’s apartment, where everything is overwhelmingly screaming _Todd_ at him, he’ll probably be alright, and be able to think about this in a calm, rational manner. Make use of _clues_ , and _look at evidence_ , and _draw conclusions_. He’ll do it by the book. Of love. Was that a song? No. Or yes. Definitely doesn’t matter. He scoops up the rest of his belongings from the floor and drains the rest of his tea.

“Yes. Shower,” he says again, trying desperately not to think about the clothes that he _knows_ he has in Todd’s drawer, because that opens up the possibility to shower _here_ , and that feels like a very dangerous line of thought. “And then I’ll, um. Come back here? So you know I haven’t, erm. Slipped and died?”

Todd sends him a look. “Great, yeah. Thanks for that thought, that’s not going to worry me at all.”

Dirk pats him on the shoulder. He really needs to get out of here before he does something stupid, so he turns on his heels and high-tails it.

***

In the shower Dirk attempts approximately eight different ways of posing the conversation to Todd, all of which he deems insufficient.

“So, Todd,” he says to his soap, holding it aloft. “The thing is, well, before we got sidetracked by all the memory business yesterday, I seem to recall something about a few — _misconceptions?_ — on my part, only it went rather too fast for me to understand _in full_ , so I wanted to know your, um, thoughts?”

He wrinkles his nose, vaguely thinking that he probably shouldn’t give too much control over to conversation to Todd, else they’ll be going around in denial-filled circles all day. Or circles about the relative self-worthiness of certain members of the detective agency. Mostly Dirk would just like to avoid circles of _any kind_ , preferably. He picks up his conditioner and squirts a bit into his palm.

“Todd,” he says to it, calmly. “I think I cut you off, yesterday, in the middle of a very sweary rant about your feelings for me, and I was — well, I was hoping you would maybe, um. Continue it. Please. Because I love you. Or I don’t. You know. Depending.”

_No Parabéns or Sulphates_ , replies his conditioner, and Dirk frowns down at it. That’s probably a bit much. Maybe he’ll just wing it. After all, he doesn’t know what he’s doing most of the time, and things normally work out. This is probably the same.

***

Dirk should _not_ have winged it. Winging it is how he ends up in Todd’s flat, freshly showered in a hoodie that only barely covers the fact he’s got Todd’s shirt on underneath. He makes Todd a very terrible cup of coffee in order to keep his hands busy in the awkward silence, and Todd drinks it anyway, leaning against the countertop. Just in case Dirk needed any more reasons to be hopelessly, terrifically in love with him.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want —“

“ _No_ hospitals,” reiterates Dirk, pointing a finger at him warningly. “They’re awful and the food is terrible. Absolutely _no_ positives. I’m not going. I feel fine.”

He remembers Todd’s hand in his, and says with a side-long glance: “Well. Maybe there’s a _few_ positives. You know, just one or two. But I’m still not going.”

Todd takes another sip of coffee, shoulders tight. The tension in the room is _horrific,_ made worse because they're ignoring it. Dirk, because he is British, and Todd because he is, well, Todd. “Okay.”

This is good, thinks Dirk, fishing about in a cupboard for a biscuit. He’s going to ease into it, and very carefully steer the conversation towards yesterday, and then possibly — well. Ideally there will be kissing, but Dirk’s trying not to count his chickens just yet.

“Right,” says Todd suddenly, effectively scuppering all of Dirk’s plans. He looks up just in time to see Todd grimacing down at the countertop, knuckles white around his mug. “Yeah, okay, we should do this, right? Talk about the — the thing?”

Dirk blinks. Todd starting the conversation was _not_ in the script. He feigns dumb. “What thing?”

Todd’s eyebrows flatten, unimpressed, which is slightly fair. Dirk is not a very good actor. “The — the  _thing_ , Dirk. The fact that you — that you thought me and you were — _ugh_.”

He screws his eyes shut. All of Dirk’s carefully formulated and pre-prepared sentences are flying rapidly from his brain in the face of this development, leaving him floundering like a fish. This must be what Todd experiences when exposed to Dirk’s driving.

“It’s not really that important, Todd,” he finds himself saying. “I mean, I don’t _mind_.”

“But we’re _dating!_ ” exclaims Todd furiously, gesticulating wildly. “Dirk, we’re — we’re _dating.”_

“Um,” says Dirk, because this is certainly news to him. “I’m sorry, we _are_?”

“Yes!” cries Todd. The coffee sloshes dangerously around in his cup, not that it would be much of a waste, and Todd sets it on the counter. “You — I — I held your hand in the hospital! You sleep in my bed! Regularly! We go out for dinner and watch _Seinfeld_ and, and —”

“ _Todd_ ,” says Dirk, frantically, cutting off the rambling. “There’s no need to _panic_ , honestly, it’s fine, it’s _okay_!”

“I mean Jesus, Dirk!” continues Todd, apparently not having heard a word he’s said. “You keep a toothbrush in my apartment! It’s — we’re basically living together!”

Dirk stares at him. He’s all flushed in the face, and is looking a little twitchy, body all compacted and shoulders hitching further and further towards his ears.

“And that’s… bad?”

Todd throws his hands up in the air. “ _Nnngh_. It’s not — it’s not _bad_ , I just — I didn’t even notice you had amnesia!”

_It’s not bad_ , thinks Dirk. _Oh, shit._

“It’s _not_ bad?” he repeats, just to check. Todd puts his head in his hands.

“ _No_ , I mean, not to _me_ , I just — Dirk, I didn’t — I hung out with you for like, twelve hours, and didn’t notice you had _no idea who I was_. That’s _fucked_.”

Dirk waves a hand at him. This is, after all, not really the point he’s interested in pursuing. “It’s fine, Todd, _really_ , calm down —“

“It’s not fine!” says Todd again, looking more and more manic. “Dirk, I — I’m meant to be your best friend, I should — I should have _realised_ , or at least, you know, asked why things were so weird, but I _didn’t_.”

“But I didn’t _want_ you to know,” interrupts Dirk, quite unsure how the conversation got derailed so quickly, and rather keen to go back to thirteen lines ago. “Todd, I was _keeping_ it from you —“

Todd snaps his fingers. “Yes! Yes, no, that’s what I’m saying! I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me! That’s lame, that’s — that’s messed up —”

“I _don’t_ feel that way,” says Dirk, desperately. “And I think amnesia counts as extenuating circumstances, anyway.”

He stares at him for a few seconds, watching his chest rise and fall with his breaths. Dirk puts one hand on the counter, to steady himself.

“Honestly, _Todd_ ,” he says. “Where is this _coming_ from?”

“I’m just — I’m just _saying_ ,” says Todd, flushed. He flounders for a bit, evidently searching for a point. “I didn’t even know you liked men!”

Dirk bites on his lip. The urge to take Todd’s face in his hands, or grab his shoulder, is overwhelming. “Todd,” he says, as kindly as he can. “I own a jacket in every colour of the rainbow. Far be it from me to make assumptions about people, but a straight man could _never_.”

Todd’s face scrunches up, and he keeps avoiding Dirk’s eyes. “Okay, so maybe I _guessed_. Still.”

Dirk wants to kiss him. A lot. But he gets the sense that this is something that runs much deeper, and isn’t just about the whole amnesia thing, and manages to suppress the urge.

“Todd,” he says, again. “You’re a good friend — no, stop.” He holds up a hand when Todd opens his mouth, heart quickening beneath his ribs. “You’re a _good_ friend. You’re my best friend, and you — you’re the only person who’s ever actually stuck around for me.”

He’s said as much before, twice even, but it feels important to say it again, because Todd has never seemed to quite understand the significance. Todd looks stricken.

“But that’s the point!” says Todd. “You don’t have anything to compare it to. You think I’m — that I’m — and I’m not, I’m just —“

“Todd.” Dirk can’t help it, he reaches out and grabs him by the shoulders. Todd looks up at him reluctantly, too many lines creased in his forehead. “It doesn’t matter, that doesn’t _matter_ , because I want — I want —“

He changes tack. “You care about me, and that’s _enough_ , Todd. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly a paragon of friendship myself.”

“That’s not true,” says Todd immediately.

“Oh, yes it is,” Dirk says. “I’m a right pain. I forget you exist half the time, I drag you carelessly into dangerous situations every other week and, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I keep eating the last biscuit.”

“You forget I exist?”

Dirk winces. “On cases? Occasionally. Maybe half-forget. I get busy with universe things.”

Todd huffs, a smile tugging at his lips before rapidly turning downwards again. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?”

Dirk takes a breath, and plunges forward. “And you’re — I _do_ have things to compare it to, actually. I love Farah, I love Amanda. I even have a degree of fondness for the Rowdy bloody Three, Todd. And, frankly, I am _sick_ of having this pep-talk. I _want_ you to be my best friend. As long as you want to be mine, too, then I’m afraid I just don’t see what the issue is.”

Todd frowns for a few more seconds, and then his mouth does the thing where it pulls down to one side, a quick motion that usually means he’s giving in, a sigh racking through him.

“Okay,” he says, rubs his eyes, shoulders deflating under Dirk’s hands. “Yeah, okay. You’re right, I shouldn’t — I mean, I’m making this about me, and — yeah. And I want — I mean, you’re my best friend, too. And I want to be your— I want to be your best friend, so. Yeah.”

“There,” says Dirk, proudly, and beams. It feels ridiculously soft and sappy, so he can’t imagine what it actually looks like. Todd looks up at him, his eyes very blue and very wide, and Dirk suddenly becomes aware he’s been gripping onto Todd’s shoulders for quite some time, and that’s it’s possibly starting to get a bit weird, and relaxes his hold on them slightly.

“Dirk,” says Todd, and then nothing else. He seems to be wrestling with something, staring at the collar of Dirk’s shirt.

“I don’t want to be your best friend,” he says finally, and Dirk’s heart plummets. “I mean, no, that’s not — I _do_ , I mean that I don’t _just_ want that. Dirk, I — I’m—“

He stops. Dirk’s heart climbs cautiously back into it’s proper place, and then a little bit higher. Todd’s gaze darts down to Dirk’s hands on his shoulders, and he blushes.

“You thought we were dating,” he mumbles again, like a stuck record. Dirk suppresses a smile.

“I think we’re going round in circles, Todd.”

Todd doesn’t say anything. Dirk bites on his lip. “You held my hand?”

He knows it happened, obviously, but it’s half a question anyway. He’s _fairly_ sure Todd’s whole unworthy-best-friend thing is tied to unworthy-potential-boyfriend thoughts, but with all the zig-zagging they’ve been doing this conversation he feels like he can’t be blamed for wanting a few things clarified. Hand-holding, feelings things specifically.

Todd hums, an open sounding noise that makes Dirk’s heart flip-flop inside his chest. It’s cardio must be amazing, what with all these acrobatics. “You slept in my bed.”

Dirk leans in a bit. He’s not sure when, but at some point Todd’s hands have landed on his sides. “I mean, blimey, Todd, we’re basically living together.”

Todd finally cracks a grin, all crooked and lopsided.

“Asshole,” he starts, and Dirk kisses him.

Just, full-on snogs him. On the mouth. Rather hard.

Todd makes a little squeaking noise, his hands fisting in Dirk’s hoodie. Dirk squeezes his shoulders in a way that must be embarrassing, if he had any rational thought left to care. Luckily, and as Farah keeps reminding him, Dirk has very few rational thoughts when it comes to Todd.

“Dirk,” Todd mumbles, all breathy, and pushes to get closer. “ _Mmph_.”

Dirk distantly thinks that, if anyone were paying attention, he should probably like to point out that he has suffered two head injuries over the past few days, and that they’re bound to have had some sort of short-term impact on his general abilities. Maybe that’s why Todd kisses him and everything short-circuits, neurons firing like fireworks in his head. It's almost certainly the reason he suddenly feels stupidly, overwhelmingly unbalanced, like his centre of gravity’s realigned itself to somebody else’s orbit.

Or maybe it’s just Todd.

***

“Next time you get amnesia you _tell me_ ,” threatens Todd, later. Dirk nods, faux-solemnly but genuine all the same. He’s sprawled out across the couch, Todd laying on top of him, because Dirk never did anything like this as a teenager and he fully intends to make up for the missed opportunities, which as it appears were many.

“I will. Although,” he tilts his head to the side. “If I did, I probably wouldn’t be able to remember promising this, so...”

Todd makes a little breathy noise, irritated and fond, and buries his head in Dirk’s shoulder.

“You’re such an idiot,” says Todd into his shirt, and Dirk hides his smile in his hair even though there’s no one to see. He finds Todd’s hand with his, and smiles even wider when Todd interlaces their fingers together.

“I can’t believe we’ve been dating this entire time,” he says, conversationally, and Todd groans.

He is still holding Dirk’s hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? doing symbolism in my own fic? more likely than you think
> 
> anyway guys i hope you like this!! i hate writing kisses bc i am gay and touch starved and physically incapable of writing a snogging session that doesn’t blow itself way out of proportion into some sort of revelation, but whatever! cant believe i actually finished a multi-chapter fic.... like todd and dirk's power......
> 
> thank u all for sticking w this, i love how i took a concept that could have produced a 50k fic and made three chapters of silliness. much love to you all <3


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